I want to talk about Bo.
Most of the players in this project have very clearly defined roles.
Bo’s role is not…. On the form he is described as something like technical advisor, or curatorial support or some such… Which of course he is… But it does go further than that. As I sit here looking at the installation, listening to the songs, and reading back over the blog, I realise the presence of Bo is… Subtle…
He has an effect on my thinking. He asks questions I don’t ask myself. He says what he thinks. Sometimes he makes me cross, and it is usually (but not always) because he is right. Bo is a proper teacher. And by this I don’t mean that ofsted have told him he is outstanding. I mean he makes me do it properly. He makes me think more clearly, even when he’s not there, because if I take short cuts for an easy life… If I resort to comfort blanket making, he will spot it right at the off.
Not doing it properly isn’t worth the wrath of Bo… Or more commonly, the smirk of Bo. I tell you, that man can smirk in an email. It’s not comfortable.
I have to ensure I know what I’m doing and why. I have to be able to explain it. If I can explain it confidently, he’s great… He might not personally like it… But if I’ve properly thought about it, and know why I’m doing it, he leaves me alone.
I’ll give you an example of the subtlety of Bo’s presence in this project….
I have ten bras, not nine. I looked at them carefully, trying to decide whether one of them should be left out, or whether I should hang all ten.
One of the bras has guitar strings stitched to it. Dan had left them in the gallery and I liked them, so I stitched them to one of the bras. This is entirely a product of the project, an illustration of my collaboration with Dan… But it’s not one of the women. This one isn’t a “she” but an “it”.
If I had hung it with the others, Bo would have asked me about it and I would have blustered. He would have stood there looking at me, smirking, while I tried to explain myself… Digging a bigger and bigger hole while I blathered on. I don’t even have to show him now, or ask him… I just know it. It’s not worth it. So the guitar string bra will hang on its own in the window maybe. Not a woman, not a story, just an illustration….
The panic I wrote about yesterday? He was also sent an email, and he also responded. His was a completely different response.
His wound me up a bit… He told me what he didn’t like. He suggested different things. He told me they looked like butterflies. BUTTERFLIES???
The combination of the reassurance from Marion and Sonia, and the winding up by Bo, is what made me look more carefully… slower… circumspectly… PROPERLY….
I need both.
